Wounds, they were healed in a moment! weariness instantly gone! Forward he pointed his sabre--led us, not ordered us on. Down on the Hessians we thundered, he, like a madman ahead; Vainly they strove to withstand us; raging, they shivered and fled. On to their earthworks we drove them, shaking with ire and dismay; There they made stand with a purpose to beat back the tide of the day. Onward we followed, then faltered; deadly their balls whistled free. Where was our death-daring leader? Arnold, our hope, where was he? He? He was everywhere riding! hither and thither his form, On the brown charger careering, showed us the path of the storm; Over the roar of the cannon, over the musketry’s crash, Sounded his voice, while his sabre lit up the way with its flash. Throwing quick glances around him, reining a moment his steed-- “Brooks, that redoubt!” was his order; “let the rest follow my lead! Mark where the smoke-cloud is parting! see where the gun-barrels glance! Livingston, forward! On, Wesson, charge them! Let Morgan advance!” “Forward!” he shouted, and, spurring on through the sally-port then, Fell sword in hand on the Hessians, closely behind him our men. Back shrank the foemen in terror; off went their forces pellmell, Firing one Parthian volley; struck by it, Arnold, he fell. Ours was the day. Up we raised him; spurted the blood from his knee-- “Take my cravat, boys, and bind it; I am not dead yet,” said he. “What! did you follow me, Armstrong? Pray, do you think it quite right, Leaving your duties out yonder, to risk your dear self in the fight?” “General Gates sent his orders”--faltering the aid-de-camp spoke-- “You’re to return, lest some rashness--” Fiercely the speech Arnold broke: “Rashness! Why, yes, tell the general the rashness he dreaded is done! Tell him his kinsfolk are beaten! tell him the battle is won!” Oh, that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight, Passed from a daylight of honor into the terrible night!-- Fell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in space, fell-- Fell from the patriot’s heaven down to the loyalist’s hell! THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. (By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.) 7 THE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR ’Tis of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the Stripes and Stars, And the whistling wind from the west-nor’-west blew through the pitch-pine spars,-- With her starboard tacks a-board, my boys, she hung upon the gale, On an autumn night we raised the light on the old head of Kinsale. It was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew steady and strong, As gaily over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled along; With the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves she spread, And bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cathead.